


Confessions

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Sufficient Skill: Elorin Mahariel x Zevran Arainai [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, M/M, The Taint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:52:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5063674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The camp is attacked by darkspawn, and Elorin Mahariel makes a terrible discovery about Tamlen's fate, prompting some difficult confessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions

Elorin gasped, his heart hammering in his chest as the image of the Archdemon faded.  He scrambled upright, getting to his feet as if that could cause the terror of the dream to fade more quickly.  He blinked, trying to ground himself.  There was the campfire.  There was Zevran working on his poisons.  And there was Alistair, the blood drained from his face, looking as sick as Elorin felt.

“It saw us, didn’t it?” Alistair asked hoarsely.

Elorin opened his mouth to speak, but then the darkspawn were upon them.

He didn’t have time to think.  His hands reached for his quiver and bow, and he fitted arrow to bowstring, the blood pounding in his ears.  Faintly he heard the voices of the others, shouts as magic boiled towards the creatures, Oghren’s roar as his berserker rage took over, the clang of Zevran’s daggers.  Elorin slipped back away from the heart of the fray, where he could shoot uninterrupted, but from the corner of his eye he saw something strange in the shadows.  A figure cowering in the dark, wearing what seemed to be Dalish armor.

A shriek clawed at him as he stood there distracted, and he lashed out with a vicious kick, striking the creature in its middle and forcing it backward.  He crouched and reached out with a frantic hand, coming up with dust sifting between his fingers, and he flung it into the eyes of the beast.  Stunned, it was easy to dispatch with a few arrows, and it crumpled before him.

Panting, Elorin saw the rest of the darkspawn fall to his companions’ weapons, but his head still buzzed with that peculiar sensation that meant darkspawn were near.  He shook his head and looked to the shadows at the edge of camp.  The figure stood, turned with its back to him.  Cautiously he approached, realizing that it was an elf.

The elf turned, its arms limp at its sides, head hung low, and Elorin recoiled.  The other man was ashen grey with his eyes white and dull, his hair having fallen out in hanks.  He stood half-crouched, as if he could no longer straighten.

“You,” he croaked.  “Lethallin…”

Elorin felt cold, with a bitter chill that had nothing to do with the balmy spring evening.   _No.  No!_ “Mercy of the gods, Tamlen – it can’t be!” he whispered.

“Don’t – don’t come near me!  Stay away!” Tamlen begged, his voice raw and gravelly, nothing like the bright laughs he used to give around the campfire.  He turned and limped a few steps away, shoulders heaving.

Elorin felt the weight of the questioning stares from the others.  He ignored them, slowly catching up to Tamlen’s shrunken figure, trying to pretend he wasn’t shaking with horror.

“Tamlen…”

“Don’t… look at me!” Tamlen rasped, trying to hide the way his face looked so hollow, the horrible pale light in his eyes.  But his hands looked like shriveled claws; the whole shape of him reminded Elorin of the shriek he had just slain.  “I am sick…”

“What happened to you?” Elorin asked faintly.

“The song… in my head.  It calls to me.  He sings to me.   _I can’t stop it!_ ”

“Please let me help you,” Elorin choked.  “The Grey Wardens helped me – maybe there’s still time –”

“Don’t want to hurt you, lethallin…  Please… stop me…” Tamlen shifted from side to side, clearly agitated.  His gnarled hands curled into fists that he clenched at his sides, as if trying to hold himself back.

“I have to heal you!”  He reached out to touch him, to touch Tamlen, just once more –

Tamlen recoiled.  “Too far.  You cannot help me.”  The fists at his sides shook violently.  “I’m… so sorry, lethallin.  Never wanted this –”

“No!” Elorin cried, but it was too late, Tamlen was throwing himself forward, fists swinging, trying to grab onto Elorin.  He reached for his daggers, struggling against Tamlen’s mad strength, before he was able to kick Tamlen back and lunge forward with Duncan’s old blade.  It found its mark true, sheathing itself in the joint of Tamlen’s breastplate and deep into his chest.

Tamlen let out a wheeze, an awful sound.  He staggered, then stumbled, landing face first in the dirt with his blood leaking around Elorin’s blade.  Even in the moonlight Elorin could tell his blood wasn’t red; instead, it was the same foul pitch color as the other darkspawn’s.  There were a few more gurgles, then Tamlen fell silent.

Elorin sank to his knees, staring blindly ahead at Tamlen’s body.  He felt a hand on his shoulder, and blearily looked up to try and find whose it was.

Alistair stared at him with pity.  “Who was that?”

“His name was Tamlen,” Elorin mumbled.  

Alistair’s eyes widened with recognition.  “Tamlen?  Then he was the one who was with you when you –”  His face darkened.  “I’m so sorry.  This is what happens when the taint is left unchecked.”  His mouth narrowed.  “It – it’s better for him, to have it end.  It was a mercy.”

Elorin nodded mechanically.  “Yes.  I think so,” he said, each word costing him a great effort.  He shook his head, then got to his feet.

Zevran appeared at Alistair’s side, but at the sight of the other elf, Elorin felt overwhelmed.  “See you tomorrow,” he bit out, then hurried off into the woods at the edge of camp, desperately wanting to be alone.

“Elorin!” he heard Zevran calling.  Elorin hissed, darting into a narrow thicket and slipping between the trunks of two large trees.  He went deeper into the woods with as much stealth as he could muster, finally settling near an oak with low branches.  Before he could change his mind he clambered up onto the lowest branches and quickly began to climb as high as he could go.  

He made it twelve feet above the ground before the branches thinned out too much to allow him further passage.  He wedged himself in the largest fork, leaning his back against the trunk, sucking in air from the burst of exertion.

From here it was easy to see when Zevran passed underneath, his daggers held loosely in his hands in case of any remaining darkspawn.  Zevran’s hair glinted gold in the moonlight, and Elorin’s heart ached at the sight of him.  He knew it was childish of him to worry Zevran so, but at the same time, he wanted to be as far away from camp and everyone else as he could.  When Zevran passed into the shadows beneath the trees and out of sight, Elorin let out a relieved sigh.  But then he was left alone with himself, and it was not a good place to be.

Elorin huddled between the branches, his nerves aflame, every part of his insides feeling as raw as scraped flesh.  The chill he had felt earlier was back, and he rubbed his hands together, trying to ward against it though he knew it was internal only.  “Tamlen,” he said softly into the dark, and the name was like the breaking of a dam.

He tried not to weep.  The other boys had teased him, long ago, for how easily tears came to him, though he had never been able to help it.  As he’d gotten older, the tendency had thankfully faded.  He hadn’t cried since the night they told him they were giving up on Tamlen.  Now he was the one who’d given up – the one who’d slipped a dagger through his ribs – and his head throbbed with the swell of tears begging to be shed.

His breath came ragged, his nose clogging, his eyes burning.   He gave in, and buried his face in his hands.

For weeks – for  _months_  – he had tried to forget Tamlen.  Tried to tell himself it wasn’t his fault.  He had never spoken of Tamlen to the others, not even Zevran – not even after Zevran had shared with him what happened to Rinna – and he had never offered explanation of how he had come into contact with the darkspawn taint.  Alistair had obviously known from spending time with Duncan, but Elorin had steadfastly refused to speak of the exact circumstances.

His mind was being cruel to him.  It shoved a memory at him from years ago, Elorin trying to swim in the stream, Tamlen – always taller, always stronger – laughing at him from the other side.  Elorin had tried to reach him, wanting to be near Tamlen as much as possible even then.  But the current had tricked him, and his weak swimming skills faltered.  Tamlen dove in, pulled his head back up above the water, helped him to the other side of the shore.  They had lain there on the sandy riverbank, dirty and tired, one of Tamlen’s arms still loosely around Elorin’s shoulders.  And Tamlen had smiled, the grin lighting up his whole face.

He realized, now, that was when he had fallen in love.  But never, never had he told him.

Elorin did not know how long he sat there in the crotch of the tree, bracing himself against the trunk.  At last the tears stopped, leaving his head pounding and his eyes swollen.

A bark at the base of the tree startled him badly, and he nearly toppled out of his perch.  He looked down, only to see his dog, Da’Ghilan, and Zevran standing there looking up at him.  

“I see you fancy yourself the Crow now, though we do not usually take the name so literally,” Zevran called, and despite the dark, Elorin could still see the other man’s smile.  He was half grateful, half frustrated.

“Not quite,” said Elorin, hoping Zevran could not see what a mess he surely looked like.  Zevran’s night vision was nowhere near as keen as Elorin’s, having been stifled by the bright lights of Antiva City, and he hoped that that difference held true now.  “And I see you colluded with Da’Ghilan to find me.”

“You told me his name means Little Guide, did you not?  Ah, you have only yourself to blame,” joked Zevran.  “Now come down, my Warden, surely even a Dalish cannot find a treetop to be a better place to spend the night than with me.”

Elorin considered.  Zevran’s face, even from a height, looked jovial as ever, but something about the way the other elf stood – he was tense, underneath the banter.  

Elorin sighed.  His back hurt from sitting up here, and he was starting to feel as if there might be ants on him.  Yes, he supposed, it would be better to come down, even if he would inevitably have to deal with things more thoroughly down there.

“If you insist,” Elorin said.  He stretched down to the next branch, then quickly descended, his body protesting after being hunched up in one position for some time.  Within a moment he was back on the ground, Da’Ghilan frantically licking him while Zevran merely leaned against the trunk, watching them both.  “Happy now?”

“If you are asking if I am glad you will not fall asleep in a tree and wake up with a broken neck, then yes, I am happy,” said Zevran.  He crossed his arms, and something flitted across his face – concern, maybe, Elorin wasn’t certain.  “The elf – Tamlen, you said? – he was your friend.  I remember that name from the Temple of Sacred Ashes, with the dour spirit fellow.”  

Elorin looked down at his boots, half-wishing he had stayed up in the tree.  “Yes, we were friends.  And – I’d always hoped there might be something… more.  But there wasn’t.”

Zevran reached out, stroking Elorin’s cheek with the back of his hand.  The touch was fleeting, but it heartened Elorin regardless.  “Your first love?  And unrequited.”  There was no judgment in his voice, no jealousy, only a quiet understanding.

Elorin began walking back to camp, Da’Ghilan dancing at his feet.  Zevran walked close to him, their shoulders occasionally bumping together.  It was easier for Elorin to speak without looking directly at his lover.  “We were friends since we were children,” he said.  “We trained as hunters together; spent all our time together.  I used to wonder if we might – if things were different –”  He hesitated.  “Having children is so important to the Dalish.  There are so few of us.  Even if Tamlen had felt the same way – it never would have happened.”  He kicked at a dirt clod in his path.  “That’s part of why it took me so long to – to respond to you.”

“The Dalish I met near Antiva City were not so open-minded either,” said Zevran.  “That is one of the reasons I returned to the city after I attempted to join them.  That, and Dalish wine is _terrible_.”

Elorin laughed a little, surprising himself.  “I guess nomadic life isn’t the best for cultivating vineyards,” he agreed.  

“Indeed,” Zevran said.  They walked a little further before Zevran asked, “And this Tamlen… he is tied to how you became a Warden?  You only ever told me before that you were conscripted.”

“I didn’t have a choice, no,” said Elorin, giving Da’Ghilan a scratch behind the ears as they continued walking.  “Tamlen and I found some ruins in the Brecilian Forest, the northern region.  I never knew Zathrien’s clan.  Anyway, we found darkspawn there, and a mirror – an  _eluvian_.  They said it was some artifact from the time of Arlathan.”  He was quiet for a moment, wishing again that things had somehow gone differently.  “Tamlen was always the more curious one, but I think now… maybe something was calling him.  He wanted to touch the mirror.  I told him no, but he… didn’t listen.  And the next thing I knew, I was alone in an aravel, waking up and feeling awful.  I had the taint.  I had to become a Warden, or I’d die.  Or worse.”

“What happened to Tamlen?”

“I don’t know,” Elorin said helplessly.  “The Keeper sent out hunters for him, but they didn’t find him, and the clan needed to move.  The shemlen were looking for us.  I thought he was dead.”  He closed his eyes, remembering.

“But instead he became a darkspawn,” said Zevran.  He reached out, touched Elorin by the shoulder.  “I am sorry.  It was not your fault.”

“I should have stopped him.  Should have made him go back and get the Keeper.  She would’ve known what to do with the mirror,” said Elorin.  “Then I’d still be home, and Tamlen wouldn’t be –”  His eyes stung, and he rubbed them with the back of his hand, looking away from Zevran.  He had thought he was done with tears.  “Sorry.  I shouldn’t – sorry.” 

“Elorin, stop,” said Zevran.  “Look at me.”

“Why?” Elorin asked mulishly, sniffing.  

“The better to see your handsome face, of course.  Come, now.”

Reluctantly Elorin turned and faced the other elf, despite the tears he could feel pricking his eyes.  “What is it?”

There was no hint of a smile on Zevran’s face.  “You do not need to ever apologize to me.”

Elorin took a deep breath.  “But this – I’m – I’m a Grey Warden, I’m not supposed to…”  He bit his lip.  “Everything dies, right?  And I need to learn how to cope with that.”

“Perhaps,” said Zevran.  “But do not think yourself weak because you have cared for someone.”

Elorin twisted his fingers together.  Thankfully, the stinging in his eyes began to dissipate.  A thought struck him, and he let it loose.  “Why did you come after me?  You must have realized that I wanted to be alone.”

There it was again, that  _something_  crossing Zevran’s face behind the smile, behind the easy expression.  The other elf went very still for a second before he relaxed again, as if he had been taken by surprise.  “That is true.  Still, I wanted to make certain you were not eaten by a darkspawn.  If you were, Alistair would be our only hope against the Blight, and I do not like those odds.”

“You know I can handle myself in a forest, Zevran.  Me.  Of all people.”  Elorin rested his hands on his hips, wondering why Zevran was being so guarded suddenly.

“The dog was driving everyone mad, looking for you, barking like a rabid beast.  I thought I would take him to the woods to allow us all a brief respite,” said Zevran smoothly.

Da’Ghilan tilted his head to one side, letting out a questioning whine.  

Elorin raised his eyebrows.  “Elgar’nan’s arse,” he said baldly.  “I would have heard him barking.  You aren’t being straight with me.   What is it?  Is everything all right back at camp?  Was anyone injured?”

Zevran’s face shifted again.  “No!  No, everyone is well,” he said hastily.  

“So what is it?”

Zevran hesitated.  When he spoke, his voice was low, quiet, nothing like his normal flattering tone.  “If you must know… I was worried for you, Elorin.  And I wanted to ensure you were all right.”  He looked deeply uncomfortable with this confession.

Elorin nearly laughed.  The great assassin, the skilled Antivan Crow, was reluctant to even share he had simply been worried about Elorin.  It would have been funny, if it didn’t also make his stomach twist.   _Why didn’t he want to tell me this?_

Elorin looked at Zevran’s face, his wide eyes, the anxious set of his mouth.  And he remembered what Zevran had told him about Rinna.   _I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me.  It **frightened**  me._

Elorin stepped forward, closing the gap between them.  He realized Zevran was trembling, just slightly.  It made Elorin’s chest ache.  He slipped his arms around Zevran, pulling him into an embrace, but instead of hungrily kissing the other elf as he had grown used to, Elorin laid his head on his shoulder.  Slowly, cautiously, Zevran mirrored the action, raising his arms to embrace Elorin, resting his cheek against Elorin’s shoulder.  

Elorin closed his eyes, breathing deeply.  Zevran smelled of leather and wine, a scent Elorin was beginning to find a comfort on its own.  But like this, with Zevran’s arms around him, their chests rising and falling together, their bodies pressed against one another, it was more comfort than he felt he deserved.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Zevran.  I’ll – I’ll be all right,” said Elorin.  He slid one hand up, brushing Zevran’s hair from where it draped over his neck, and pressed a kiss to the soft skin at the junction of jaw and neck.  He let Zevran’s blond hair fall back, and returned to the embrace for just a moment before pulling back.

“I am glad to hear it,” said Zevran, all sly smiles again.  “My tent would be quite lonely were you to start spending the night up a tree.”

“And I’d be sure to wake up sore,” said Elorin.  He reconsidered, then said, “Well, more sore than usual,” and winked.

They made their way back to the camp, Da’Ghilan following behind them.  As the firelight flickered through the trees, Elorin’s heart sank again.  Tamlen would still be there, his ruined body prone in the heather.  Perhaps in the morning he would ask Shale and some of the others to help dig a gravesite for him.  It was what the clan would have done for him, had they found him, and he knew he owed Tamlen that.  He closed his eyes.  He had owed Tamlen so much more.  He would never be able to do quite enough to make up for that, he knew that.

As Elorin fought back the sinking feeling, he felt something unexpected at his hand.  He looked down to see Zevran twining his fingers with Elorin’s, giving his hand a quick squeeze.  Zevran’s hand was gone again before Elorin could reciprocate, and though he was certain it was his imagination, he thought he saw a faint blush to Zevran’s cheeks.

“Thank you,” Elorin said, so softly he was not sure if Zevran heard him.

But Zevran’s slight smile said he had.

**Author's Note:**

> I imagine Zevran to have a very difficult time feeling secure enough to offer affection without sexualization, and I enjoyed writing these sort of baby steps he takes -- consciously or subconsciously -- towards that kind of action.


End file.
